by Devin Madson
“So I have surmised.”
He strode out, his long-legged gait eating up the passage. Beneath the thud of his steps the house was eerily quiet.
“Put me down,” I said, and when he didn’t, I rolled, only to find no freedom. Every vain kick and squirm hurt, but still I wriggled all the way to the stairs. On the top step I bucked, because even breaking an arm getting thrown down the stairs would be better than going back to the hieromonk, but the fucking god-man didn’t let go. He didn’t lose his balance or loosen his grip, just carried me down the stairs and out through the mire of rotting flowers and rain.
“Please don’t do this,” I said when words were all I had left. “Don’t give us back to him.”
“At first you spat and fought not to be given to me and now you wish not to be given back,” the Witchdoctor said. “I do not like interruptions to my experiments, but there are occasions when one must choose the lesser of two evils, as you humans would say.”
He splashed his way toward the workroom, the house still hanging quiet around us. “Is she that important?” I said. “Saki?”
He slowed his pace but didn’t stop. “Yes.”
The sort of answer with which there is no arguing. So I dug my teeth into his arm. His sleeve tasted of ink and smoke, but even when I tried to tear it, the god-man didn’t flinch. What ought to have made him howl and drop me had no effect at all, and by the time I gave up voices had sprouted in the distance. Not shouts and bangs and running steps, but the desultory conversation of people waiting.
Rain fell into my face as the Witchdoctor stepped out into the Wisteria Court, hushing all with his presence. “One Empress of Kisia,” he said, finally setting me on my feet. “You will no doubt find the Deathwalker upon one of the surrounding roads, making good her escape.”
The hieromonk’s expressionless mask could not smile, but the man beneath it undoubtedly did. “How lovely to see you again, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Lord Villius,” the empress replied, lifting her chin to better look down her nose at him despite his superior height.
It wasn’t the way one ought to address the hieromonk, but he smiled all the same. “It’ll take more than disrespect to upset me. Captain Aeneas?”
It was as well the empress had taken over, for I would have flinched at the captain’s sudden appearance, his scarred face unchanged since our first meeting north of Koi. “Yes, Your Holiness,” he said, sparing me nothing but a glance.
“See Her Majesty to the carriage. If we leave now, we might still catch up with the Deathwalker.” His eyes seemed to twinkle through the mask’s slits as he spoke, but a moment later he had turned away, already calling orders to his men. Captain Aeneas remained, a frown marring his face as he looked from his master to me and back.
“Come, Your Majesty,” he said as the soldiers began filing out. “There’s no point fighting now.”
Empress Hana lifted her chin again, and pride winning over pain, she walked regally toward the gate.
16. MIKO
It took days to climb down out of the mountains, snatches of sea view replaced with the occasional glimpse of the Tzitzi River, snaking its way across the land to the north. Were Grace Bahain’s men watching it? Waiting for me? Or were they still behind us somewhere, chasing us across the landscape?
The first town we stumbled upon sat nestled at the foot of the mountains, its bustling market and well-kept roads proof one of the area’s well-known fur routes ran through it. That made it a more dangerous place to stop than a smaller village, but we had been walking for days in the rain and the very thought of an inn made my cold, clammy skin yearn for the touch of dry clothes and warm sheets.
“We should find somewhere to sleep the night,” I said, slowing my pace as buildings rose around us. “And get some proper food.” My stomach squelched along with the mud beneath my stolen sandals.
With his long-legged gait, Rah caught up and replied in a rumble of Levanti.
“I don’t think anyone will be looking for us here,” I returned, guessing what he had said. “Although you stand out a bit.”
I glanced at my stoic companion. He was taller than most Kisians, and although many days without shaving his head had left a nap of wavy dark hair that hid his branding, even Kisian clothes could not hide the dark colour of his skin. Shishi too was sopping wet, her underside no longer the colour of gold but of mud.
The promise of a dry sleeping mat, warmth, and food drained slowly away, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. Any innkeeper would take one of the jewelled pins in my hair in return for food and mats for the night, but not with a dog leaving muddy prints everywhere.
An inn lantern came into view—a bright, hopeful sun piercing the grey evening with its promises. Not the sort of inn catering to the nobility, but what was a little noise and dirt when hot food and anonymity were on offer?
I gnawed my lip, aware of Rah’s tilted head in the corner of my vision.
“New plan.” I walked on, my resolve stiffening at the smell of food. Rah followed, he and Shishi turning with me from the main road into a narrow street beside the inn’s yard. A wooden gate sat open. Inside, a long stable house abutted the main building, sluicing water from its own slanted roof onto the yard stones, obscuring the stable hands sitting within. Only their laughter teased through, along with a twinkle of lantern light.
“All right, stay here,” I said, gesturing stay as much to Rah as to Shishi. “I’ll be right back.”
With a nod, Rah dropped into a crouch, his hand upon Shishi’s sodden coat. Leaving them, I returned along the alley, glancing back only once to be sure they hadn’t followed. Neither had, at least not with their feet. Their eyes seemed to track me even after I took the corner and knew myself out of sight.
Alone, I hurried the short distance to the inn door. With every step the sounds from within grew louder and the smells stronger, but neither prepared me for the onslaught that hit the moment I ducked beneath the low lintel. The inn was full of people—a few well-dressed merchants, but mostly commoners in woollen robes of blue and brown and green, plain and unadorned by anything but the occasional embroidered sash. Some still wore their storm cloaks, though most had hung them on hooks along the front wall—hooks so full that cloaks occasionally slipped unheeded to the floor.
Groups, large and small, knelt around square tables so close together that the back of one man was all but pressed against another, but no one seemed to care. Bottles of wine far outnumbered the smattering of teapots and bowls, while serving girls carried long trays of steaming food through the mass like floating dancers. One walked past, wafting a divine smell in her wake, only for it to be swallowed by the soupy stink of damp wool and mud and an unsavoury tang I couldn’t place. It seemed at one with the constant, overloud babble and bursts of laughter that rolled across the room. At the closest table a group of men were dicing, little bronze coins gathered between them, while in the corner two played Errant amid a large, voluble crowd of onlookers.
“Out of the way, girlie,” someone grunted as they pushed past me in the doorway, not stopping to stare as I had done. Hoping no one noticed my confusion, I followed the new arrival toward the bar. Without speaking, he dropped a trio of coins on the bench top and leaned there, watching a young woman pour him a bowl of wine, her cheeks reddening under his scrutiny. She must have felt the weight of my gaze too, for she glanced up only to look away again, doubly confused.
An aproned man behind the bar lifted his brows. “What can I do for you, girl? You looking for someone?”
“No,” I said, more hastily than I had meant. “No. Well, yes, but…” My cheeks reddened as his brows rose still higher into a nest of oily hair. “I am looking for my brother but I do not expect him for a while. I would like a room for the night. And food.”
The man looked me up and down. It was not done to walk around in just an under-robe, but until that moment I had not cared that my outer robe and sash had been lost to the cliffs at Syan. I drew myse
lf up, refusing to be so belittled by a commoner.
“By yourself?” the man said, proving there was no limit to the height his eyebrows could rise.
Having received his bowl of wine the other patron moved off into the noisy crowd, leaving the young woman trying to cool her burning cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“Yes. I trust there is no problem with that? I can pay you well.” I pulled one of my hairpins from that morning’s sodden attempt at a bun, and dropped it on the bar. In the lantern light the gold horse shimmered, its sapphire eye gleaming.
The barman snatched it up, turning it over in calloused hands. “Where’d you get this?”
“That’s my business. Will you take it?”
The young woman had stopped trying to cool her cheeks and was staring at me now, open-mouthed, while the barman’s brows dropped into a scowl. He chewed his thoughts, jaw working, then closed his fingers over the jewel. “I’ll take it. A room for the night? And food?”
“Yes, a room overlooking the stable yard so I can watch for my brother’s arrival.”
“Very well, though might I suggest you take your meal upstairs, my lady; there are plenty of watching eyes and wandering hands here. The storms make everyone tetchy.”
As if to corroborate his words, shouts rose from the Errant game in the corner. One onlooker had grabbed the front of another’s robe and together the pair stumbled into a table, sending wine bowls flying.
Swear words hissed from between the man’s lips. “Take this one upstairs, Gi. Make sure she has everything she needs.” He dashed away on the words, the rumble of his angry voice charging before him.
“This way please, my lady,” the young woman said, ducking out from behind the bar and gesturing toward the stairs. I followed her up the narrow stairway to an equally narrow hallway on the second floor, lined with doors. The noise from the main floor was muffled, yet the barman’s shouts still rang clear. “Papa does not like it when people break wine bowls,” the girl said with a grimace. “He says they are worth more than most of our patrons.” A little smile quickly became a comical look of horror and she covered her mouth and bowed. “Present company excluded, of course, my lady. I meant no disrespect.”
I assured her I had not taken it so and followed her to the end of the passage where she slid open a door with plain paper panels. A small room with clean matting awaited me and I sighed. Dry. Warm. Comfortable. “I shall have food brought up at once,” she said. “Will there be anything else?”
“Do make it a lot of food; I am very hungry. And another pillow for the sleeping mat.” An explanation about liking to spread out as I slept began only to get tangled before it reached my tongue, leaving the young woman to a knowing, pursed-lipped smile.
“Of course,” she said. “Wine?”
“Tea.”
Surprise lifted her brows almost as high as her father’s. “As you wish. Oh, and if you would be wanting a bath…” She very deliberately looked me in the eye rather than risking offence by staring at my muddy clothes. “The back stairs will take you down to our small bathhouse. It’s nothing special, but the water is warm and it’s only used by people taking a room for the night so you shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Thank you.”
She bowed and stepped back into the passage, sliding the door closed behind her. To the retreating beat of her footsteps, I dashed to the window. Its shutters had been firmly closed against the rain, but I threw them open. Night had closed in fast, and hoping I had not left them waiting too long, I climbed through the open window and down onto the stable roof. Its slant was not as steep as I had feared, and I made its length without slipping and dropped to the ground at the far end. No one shouted after me, and with darkness for cover, I slipped out through the open yard gates and back into the alley.
Rah and Shishi were still waiting. Both sat in the lee of a house, its overhanging eaves shielding them from the worst of the rain and the rising wind, but at sight of me Rah rose, Shishi at his heels.
It was harder climbing back up, made all the worse by slippery sandals, but with the prize being a dry room and real food, I swallowed my pride and let Rah hoist me. I scrambled the rest of the way, latching on to the eave and hauling myself over the edge onto the tiles. Shishi had always been heavier than she looked, but even with so much water in her fur he lifted her up to me. Disliking the height, she panicked, her claws scratching burning lines across my arms, and it was all I could do to hold her tight and carry her across the sloping tiles.
Rah joined me beneath my window as little more than a dim, rainswept shadow. I pointed to the window, which earned a quick nod and a smile before he jumped to grab the sill. Muscles bunching, he lifted his whole weight toward the promise of food and rest, sliding headfirst inside, his wiggling sandals the last thing I saw before he disappeared.
I held my breath, fearing I had sent him through the wrong window, but his head soon reappeared, followed by his arms, reaching down to receive the shaking mess of wet fur. I lifted Shishi as far as I could, hoping it would be high enough, and my heart sang as she was lifted free.
Shishi disappeared inside, before Rah stretched his hands down to me. At one time, pride would have had me refuse his assistance, but in the last few days I had come to rely on him in a way I had never thought possible and I took his hands without thinking, his strong fingers closing around mine.
I slid in over the sill as he had done, but neither he nor Shishi got out of the way in time and I half squashed them both. Shishi let out a sharp yelp and leapt away, trailing damp fur over Rah’s face. I laughed at his mud-streaked grimace. “Very pretty.”
He grinned and I recognised a few words of his reply, which made me proud beyond reason.
Having checked the room was safe, I spread my arms in triumph. “See? Dry.” I patted the reeds, while Shishi curled up in the corner, eyeing us indignantly. “I paid about a hundred times more than it was worth, but I think—”
A knock shook the door, dropping the smile from my face. Rah made to move, but I held up my hand, pressing the other to my lips. Shishi’s tail stirred. “Yes?” I said.
“I have brought your tea, my lady,” came the young woman’s voice. “And your… second pillow.”
My cheeks reddened as I wondered how much she had heard. The deep rumble of Rah’s voice carried surprisingly far. “Just, ah… just set it down out there. I am… changing my robe.” I grimaced at the unnecessary detail, but the girl seemed to find nothing amiss.
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, I’ll just leave the tea here. Your meal will be another half hour or so, I’m afraid. The kitchens have been busy tonight.”
“Thank you.”
A tray clattered, and a pair of footsteps made their way back along the passage. As they faded into the din below, I let go a long breath. Once more gesturing for Rah to stay, I went to the door and slid it just enough to peer through. The hallway was empty but for a tea tray, a pillow, two thin towels, and a pair of worn woollen robes. I pressed my hand to my mouth, muting the strangled little cry that broke from my lips. I had not thought to meet with kindness as a dishevelled nobody at a common inn, and I had to wipe away tears as I gathered everything up.
“Towel,” I said, setting it all down just inside the door. “And a robe. We could go wash.” I motioned cleaning my arms and face. Almost I asked if that was something Levanti did and immediately felt ashamed. Of course they did. They might do things differently, but if I had learned anything since meeting Rah and Tor it was that Levanti were not the barbarians they had been painted. They were just warriors who did not look the same as us.
“Towel,” Rah said, repeating my words in the way we had grown used to. “Robe.” He picked one of them up and examined it while I poured out tea. “Tea,” he added, looking at the steaming bowl I set before him.
I had not taught him that one, and I felt a warm glow of pleasure that he had been paying enough attention to pick it up. “Yes, tea. Hot.” I feigned bu
rning myself. “Steam.”
He repeated those words too, then took up the bowl and held it cupped as I did. His hands were bigger than mine, making it unnecessary to hold it so, but nothing could have made me tell him.
I blew the steam off the top of my tea in three long gusts of breath, the repetition of an old routine seeming to knit closed some of the cracks in my soul. We drank in silence, but I wished I could ask him what he thought of the taste, whether it warmed him to the bone as it did me, wished I could tell him that the smell of it made me think of my mother and of lazy days sitting with Tanaka and Edo dreaming about the world we would build. That world was all but destroyed now, lost with Tanaka’s life, and its broken pieces were so scattered I doubted I could pick them up at all.
Perhaps it was just as well I couldn’t say any of that, so close did fury and sorrow live beneath my skin.
Once we had finished, we gathered towels and robes and went down to the bathhouse. I checked the hallway was clear before Rah stepped out and had to command Shishi to stay behind, but we made it down the narrow steps without running into anyone.
Used to the neatly carved bathhouses in the Chiltaen style, I was not prepared for the rough stone that bit at my feet. It was a shapeless cave full of steam and the scent of damp moss and earth, and Rah drew a deep breath and let it out on a string of blissful words. He pointed at the jagged pool, and with his brows lifted in question I knew I would have to lead the way.
I set down my towel and robe and stared at the wall. I had gotten used to avoiding the need to share a bath by rising early, but it was too late now to hurry back upstairs and pretend I wasn’t desperately in need of a wash.
When I turned back, Rah had already started stripping off the mud-stained vestiges of his clothes, his dark skin shiny with rain or sweat or both. I looked away, something in the rippling muscles of his shoulders indecent to the eye.